He is Old
by The Half Mad Muggle
Summary: Whilst contemplating Albus Dumbledore, Severus has the most terrible realisation of them all. ONE SHOT. Father/son relationship.


He's Old.

_Severus Snape realises some things about Albus Dumbledore._

_Yes I know I did not post anything yesterday. That's because some people were being quite rude to me, and I did not feel like writing. I am really sorry about that; but here is yesterday's one shot, and then over the weekend I shall make up for my absence!_

_Thanks to everyone for their recent reviews, they really make me smile!_

_Kati, thank you for your support today. I wish you lived near me!_

* * *

He just dozed off. In the middle of our conversation and all! How rude. I do not know why I bother at the moment; clearly our conversation was not entertaining him. More fool me for thinking he might actually care.

I sit for a moment on the sofa opposite him, just watching him. Recently, my Headmaster has started to look...different. I've seen it. The lines are deeper around his eyes; he is slower when he moves. His conversations can just stop...he pauses and looks out into space, for minutes at a time...and then sees you. Sometimes he thinks that I have only just arrived.

Other times, I see a flicker of confusion. Just a flicker. I cannot bear this; Albus Dumbledore can never be confused. We need him to be the one who can see far into distance without forsaking the present.

I need him to see both the Light and the Dark in my soul. Sometimes I think he underestimates his importance in my life; which is peculiar, because he knows how important he is. People tell him every day; I certainly do. Yet with me, he simply nods benignly. Why doesn't he understand...?

I spend an hour with him every day now. I need it; he speaks sense and he orders my mind. And yet, sometimes I wonder if he has listened to me at all. He forgets things, like when I tell him something about the Dark Lord, and the day after he can be told the same information and react in the same way.

Albus Dumbledore cannot lose his touch; for the moment he falls, the rest of us will fall too, like the house of cards.

He stirs and awakes. I now have to pretend that I did not notice; I busy myself with the book in my lap. Out of the corner of my eye, I see him start—and then compose himself. "Severus!"

I raise my gaze to him with a smile. Genuine affection colours my expression; I care so much for him, more than I think he will ever understand. Or even try to know. For I have forgotten the one real truth; he is narrow-sighted. He sees only what he wants to see. He sees that I will spy for him, that I will give my life for him, and yet he does not see why I do these things. Why I choose to do these things.

"What were we discussing?" His voice sounds almost guilty; yet, I am sure he does not know that emotion. He can never feel guilt like I have. I continue to smile, "Nothing important, Headmaster."

His blue eyes seem to see right through me, as they always do. I used to feel uncomfortable under the piercing gaze; standing before the Dark Lord was easier. But now I understand—he does not see everything. He does not see my feelings for him; how I care for him like a father. He cannot see everything; and although I should be worried that he is showing weaknesses, I am content.

At this moment however, he knows I am lying—and he knows he fell asleep during an important conversation. Worry twists his worn face, "I'm sorry, my boy. I am always tired, these days."

_My boy. _Those words used to disgust me; now they are a surrogate title. He uses them so often to talk to me, when we are alone and also when we are with company. It reminds people, I think, that he owns me. I know that he paid the Minister to let me stay here with him; I do not feel resentment for that. I used to; but I grew to understand the debt was not yet paid.

Few know that he owns my soul. I gave it to him, metaphorically, the day he showed me forgiveness. The day I cut my heart and left it to bleed at his feet; the day I took my dignity and threw it in front of him. I laid my broken and dissected self bare for him to see; and he fixed me. For that, I am grateful.

He is waiting for my response; I nod my head slightly, "It is no matter. I understand that the war is tiring." I have not slept for weeks; and yet, I do not show that to anyone. My privacy is all I have left now, for he has taken everything else from me.

Or did I willingly give it?

I wonder why I do not feel angry at him. I was angry at the Dark Lord for humiliating me; and yet, Albus Dumbledore has done so much worse.

I stand to leave, wanting to give him some time by himself. As I leave, I hear him stand up and turn to look out of the window. I wonder what thoughts run through his head. Perhaps he understands what he does to me; perhaps he is wondering who he is.

I glance back, and instead of the great Albus Dumbledore, I see something else. I see a man, back bent with the trials of life. A long grey beard that is wispy in places; hair that is grey, no longer silver. I see pale skin, eyes that do not sparkle, and lines that are too deep. I see not a warrior, not a scholar, not a king.

Time has not been kind.

The knowledge makes me hurt; I feel the blade drive into my chest. My heart weeps for him.

For I do not see the man I love.

I see an old man.

The realisation makes me turn hurriedly and leave, for I cannot let the truth masquerade in front of my eyes, for I know it will break me. The idea of it could make my knees buckle and my strength crumble; for if this weakness can affect him, then it can affect anyone.

Albus Dumbledore is old.

* * *

_Hmmmm. I am not sure about this one; just something I thought our Sevvie would think, bless his heart. Thank you for reading, and please leave a review if you have the time! SS19_


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